pzb.lostsouls-第26部分

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　　Then　his　stomach　convulsed；　and　he　fumbled　at　the　door　handle。　Molochai　said；　〃Just　puke　on　the　floor；〃　but　Nothing　fell　out　of　the　van　and　rolled　over　the　crackling　dead　tobacco　leaves　and　vomited　copiously　on　the　frosty　earth。　He　choked；　spat；　felt　steam　from　his　vomit　wash　over　his　face。　He　tasted　fried　chicken；　strawberry　wine；　bile。　Dimly　he　became　aware　that　Zillah　was　holding　him；　that　Zillah's　hands　were　smoothing　his　hair　back　from　his　burning　face。
　　Zillah　bent　to　Nothing's　lips　and　licked　away　the　sour　sticky　spit　that　webbed　them；　tenderly　forced　Nothing's　mouth　open；　kissed　Nothing　full　and　deep。
　　〃I　love　you；〃　Nothing　told　Zillah　before　he　knew　what　he　was　going　to　say。　But　Zillah　only　looked　at　him　with　those　glowing　green　eyes；　and　Nothing　thought　he　saw　a　touch　of　amusement　there。
　　Back　in　the　van；　Nothing　expected　howls　of　derision；　in　this　crowd　throwing　up　surely　meant　you　were　a　pussy。　But　Molochai　and　Twig　didn't　laugh　at　him。　They　were　snuggled　down　on　the　mattress；　clutching　each　other　like　children。　Nothing　lit　a　Lucky　but　wrinkled　his　nose　and　pitched　the　cigarette　out　the　window　after　two　drags。
　　〃Still　sick？〃　said　Molochai。　〃I　bet　we　can　make　you　better。〃　A　glance　passed　between　the　three　of　them。　Molochai　dug　under　the　mattress　and　pulled　out　a　wine　bottle　half　full　of　a　dark　liquid；　ruby…brown　and　thicker　than　wine。　The　outside　of　the　bottle　was　covered　with　dried　smears　and　fingerprints　of　the　liquid。　〃Drink　this。　It'll　fix　you　up。〃
　　〃If　it　doesn't　kill　you；〃　Twig　added　with　his　quick　blade　of　a　smile。
　　Nothing　took　the　bottle；　uncapped　it；　lifted　it　to　his　mouth；　and　sipped。　There　was　some　kind　of　liquor…vodka　or　gin；　something　oily　and　stinging…but　mingled　with　that　was　another　taste；　dark　and　sweet　and　a　little　decayed。　Familiar。　He　brought　the　bottle　down；　blinked；　then　lifted　it　again　and　drank　deep。　Molochai；　Twig　and　Zillah　watched　him。　All　three　sat　very　still；　seeming　to　hold　their　breath。　Nothing　stopped　drinking；　licked　his　lips；　and　smiled。
　　〃I　don't　think　drinking　blood　is　so　weird；〃　he　said。
　　At　first　they　only　looked　surprised。　Molochai　and　Twig　were　perhaps　a　little　disappointed；　Nothing　thought　he　saw　a　faint　feral　glow　fading　out　of　their　eyes。　Zillah　raised　his　eyebrows　at　them；　lifted　one　shoulder　in　a　slight　shrug。　The　air　in　the　van　was　thick；　tense；　something　seemed　to　be　passing　between　them；　something　Nothing　could　not　read。　Then　Zillah　laid　his　hand　over　Nothing's　and　pushed　the　bottle　to　Nothing's　lips　again。
　　They　passed　it　around；　drinking　until　the　insides　of　their　mouths　were　stained　rotten　red；　Nothing　no　longer　felt　sick。　He　was　giddy　with　joy；　and　when　Zillah　grabbed　him　again；　he　kissed　back　hard；　then　hooked　his　fingers　through　Zillah's　nipple　rings　and　tugged　gently。
　　〃Do　that　again；　about　three　times　as　hard；〃　sighed　Zillah。　Nothing　plied；　dizzy　with　arousal。　He　could　not　have　imagined　a　better　lover　if　he　had　been　given　the　blueprint。　He　didn't　know　where　the　blood　had　e　from；　whether　it　was　something　they　used　to　scare　outsiders　or　a　taste　they　genuinely　cultivated；　and　right　now　he　didn't　care。　Anyone　who　wanted　to　play　vampire　was　all　right　by　him。
　　
　　Everyone　passed　out　sometime　before　dawn。　Nothing　slept　close　by　Zillah；　his　smooth　cheek　resting　against　Zillah's　arm。　Zillah　watched　him　in　the　darkness；　studied　the　lashes　lying　smudgily　against　the　pale　skin；　the　sweet　lips　parted　in　sleep；　the　breath　from　them　rich　with　wine　and　blood。　He　brushed　a　strand　of　dirty　black　hair　away　from　the　boy's　brow；　traced　the　shape　of　the　boy's　face　with　his　forefinger。　It　was　a　fine　clear　face；　the　delicate　yet　strong　bone　structure　just　beginning　to　emerge　from　the　mask　of　childhood。　He　was　perhaps　the　most　attractive　hitchhiker　they　had　ever　picked　up。　And　what　was　so　strange　about　him？
　　He　had　drunk　from　the　bottle　of　blood　without　choking；　without　spitting　or　gagging。　To　the　contrary…the　blood　had　seemed　to　revive　him；　freshen　his　skin；　brighten　his　eyes。
　　Most　hitchhikers　were　glad　enough　to　party　with　them；　to　share　a　pipe　or　a　tab　of　acid　or　a　tumble　on　the　mattress。　Then…always　after　these　pleasures；　for　it　made　their　blood　sweeter…the　wine　bottle　was　brought　out。　Or　the　whiskey　bottle；　or　whatever　they　had　put　the　latest　batch　in。　This　was　Molochai　and　Twig's　favorite　part：　the　hitchhiker；　already　drunk　or　high　or　fried　on　acid；　would　swig　eagerly　from　the　bottle。　Then　his　eyes…or　her　eyes…would　grow　big　and　frightened；　and　his　mouth…or　her　mouth　would　twist　in　terror　and　disgust　as　the　blood　drooled　back　out　of　it；　and　Molochai；　Twig；　and　Zillah　would　be　upon　him。　Or　her。　One　rescuing　the　wine　bottle；　one　holding　the　hitchhiker's　panicked　hands；　and　one　at　the　throat。　The　sweet；　rended；　pulsing　throat。　Or　the　belly。　Or　the　crotch。　Anywhere　would　do；　any　spot　that　would　bleed。
　　But　none　of　that　had　happened　with　this　boy…Nothing。　Where　had　he　e　by　such　a　name？　And　where　had　he　e　by　a　taste　for　blood？　Again　Zillah　studied　the　dear　sleeping　face；　the　dark　fringe　of　hair　that　fell　across　the　eyes。　This　one　could　stay　around　for　a　few　days。　There　was　magic　in　his　bloodstream；　surely；　but　maybe　a　sort　of　magic　that　should　be　saved　for　a　while。　With　the　tip　of　his　finger　he　touched　Nothing's　lips。　And　in　his　sleep；　Nothing　smiled。
　　
　　The　birth　of　morning　found　them　all　heaped　on　the　mattress；　tangled；　hair　across　faces；　hearts　to　backbones；　hands　clutching　hands。　Zillah　stirred　and　muttered　as　the　first　light　touched　his　eyelids…the　last　ancestral　vestige　of　a　reflex　he　scarcely　remembered；　even　in　his　nightmares。　He　pressed　his　mouth　against　Nothing's　throat。　Then　he　came　half…awake　and；　remembering　that　he　had　decided　to　keep　this　boy；　did　not　bite　but　had　to　suck　like　a　baby　before　he　could　sleep。
　　
　　　Chapter　16
　　
　　Steve　had　awakened　with　a　hellacious　hangover。　This　was　no　rare　occurrence　for　him…usually　he　could　sleep　it　off　or　chew　Excedrin　until　he　felt　better…but　today's　was　a　real　bulldog；　tenacious　and　ugly；　with　pounds　of　power　in　its　drooling　jaws。
　　Now　Ghost　was　trying　to　talk　to　him。　The　guy　had　some　nerve。　Steve　glowered　across　the　kitchen　table。　〃You　want　to　go　where？〃
　　〃Miz　Catlin's。　You　remember　her；　my　grandmother's　friend？　She　has　her　own　store　now。　It's　out　on　Forty…two　toward　Corinth。　Just　down　the　road；　west。〃
　　〃West；〃　said　Steve　stupidly。　He　poked　at　his　banana　pancakes；　then　sipped　the　beer　Ghost　had　given　him。　Hair　of　the　dog　he　told　himself。　Hair　of　the　dog　that　bit　me。　Who　says　there　aren't　nerves　in　the　brain？　He　pressed　his　hands　to　his　temples；　winced；　lifted　the　beer　again。　That　was　all　the　exercise　he　planned　on　getting　this　morning。　〃What　do　you　want　to　go　out　there　for？〃
　　〃She　makes　herb　remedies。　I　want　to　get　some　balm　of　angelica。〃　Ghost　shovelled　in　a　forkful　of　pancake；　licked　honey　off　his　lips。　〃I　got　a　wisdom　tooth　ing　in。〃
　　〃I'll　take　you　down　to　the　7…Eleven。　You　can　get　a　bottle　of　Tylenol。〃
　　Ghost　pulled　his　hair　in　front　of　his　face　and　looked　disdainful。　〃That's　no　good。　I　can't　use　any　of　that　stuff…it　makes　me　sick。　e　on；　you　ought　to　get　out　of　the　house。〃
　　〃Where　is　this　place　again？〃
　　〃West；〃　said　Ghost　patiently。　〃You　know。　Like　California；　only　not　as　far。〃
　　Steve　lifted　his　middle　finger；　but　the　effort　was　too　much　for　him；　and　he　took　another　swig　of　beer。　〃I'm　supposed　to　go　to　work　at　four。〃
　　〃'We'll　be　back　by　then。　e　on；　Steve。　It　might　not　be　warm　much　longer。〃
　　Steve　cast　a　suspicious　look　at　Ghost。　〃You　drank　as　much　as　I　did。　How　e　you　don't　have　a　hangover？〃
　　Ghost　smiled。　〃Miz　Catlin　gave　me　a　potion。　Want　some？〃
　　
　　One　of　the　four　roads　that　led　out　of　Missing　Mile；　Firehouse　Street；　crossed　N。C。　42　a　ways　out　of　town。　Steve　turned　the　T…bird　onto　the　highway　and　leaned　out　the　window；　letting　the　wind　rush　past　his　face。　The　air　smelled　of　the　long　sweet　death　of　summer　and　the　gaudy　return　of　autumn。　Dandelions；　creekwater；　woodsmoke　from　an　early　bonfire。　Steve　breathed　them　all　in。
　　He　felt　better　now；　had　felt　better　ever　since　Ghost　made　him　drink　some　bittersweet　anise…flavored　liquid　from　a　tiny　blue　bottle。　Steve　had　heard　all　the　arguments　against　herbal　medicine…it　was　dangerous；　it　was　inaccurate；　it　was　better　left　to　real　scientists　with　real　Ph。D。's…but　growing　up　around　Ghost　and　Miz　Deliverance；　he　had　seen　folk　remedies　in　action　a　hundred　times　over。　They　could　be　a　damn　sight　more　powerful　than　anything　available　at　the　local　pharmacy。
　　Ghost　had　dug　an　old　five…stringed　guitar　out　of　the　T…bird's　trunk。　He　sprawled　in　the　backseat　strumming　random　chords　that　sounded　like　crystal　being　smashed　by　a　rusty　hammer；　singing　as　loud　as　he　could　over　the　wind　and　the　hum　of　the　tires　on　the　road。　〃Sold　in　the　market　down　in　New　Orleeeeens　。　。　。　I　bet　your　momma　was　a　voodoo　queen　。　。　。　owhoooo；　how　e　you　dance　so　gooood？〃
　　Ghost's　voice　always　reminded　Steve　of　Hank　Williams　before　the　speed　and　the　whiskey　got　him；　and　in　it　Steve　thought　he　could　hear　the　beat　of　dusky　blood　and　the　roar　of　the　Mississippi。　But　he　only　said；　〃That's　not　how　that　song　goes。〃
　　Under　Ghost's　enthusiastic　fingers；　the　guitar　strings　protested；　then　succumbed　and　sang　their　cacophonous　song。　The　G…string　pinged　out　a　tiny　death　knell　as　it　snapped。　Ghost　sang　more　softly；　mourning　it。　In　the　front　seat　Steve　grinned；　shook　his　head；　and　pushed　the　speed　up　a　notch。　The　sun　was　warm；　and　the　road　rose　and　fell　smoothly　away；　and　they　almost　drove　past　the　place　before　Ghost　stopped　playing　and　said；　〃That's　it！〃
　　Steve　slowed；　looked　around。　〃Where？〃
　　Ghost　pointed　at　a　little　house　set　back　from　the　road。　It　was　painted　green　and　sat　on　a　big　lawn　still　speckled　yellow　and　white　with　late　dandelions。　Out　back；　Steve　thought　he　saw　the　gleam　of　a　pond。　Sure　enough；　as　he　watched；　a　fat　white　goose　came　around　the　house　and　marched　up　the　porch　steps。　At　the　end　of　the　driveway；　a　carefully　stencilled　sign　read：　CATLIN'S　COUNTRY　STORE。　PICKLES；　PIES；　PRESERVES。　CLOSED　SUNDAYS
　　〃No　way；〃　said　Steve。
　　〃Sure；　this　is　it。　Go　on　up　the　drive。〃
　　Steve　twisted　around　to　look　at　Ghost。　〃You're　tryin'　to　tell　me　a　witch　owns　this　place？〃
　　Ghost　look